Estimated reading time: 9 minutes
Come on in ‘til I get a look at ye. Sure, aren’t youse both very tall gettin. Look at those muscles! Wish I had a head of hair like yours, Rory. Where’s mine? Ah, sure that’s long gone. Flew away.
And you Mary, c’mere to me. God, you’re like your mammy when she was your age. All curls and dimples. Come on inside youse two where it’s nice and warm. Rory, throw a wee peat on the fire, son.
Aye, they’re both in here!
Watch your fingers. Good man. S’down there with Shadow. She won’t bite. Unless you’re a postman or a protestant. Give her bum a wee nudge. Thataboy! Not one bit shy are ye son.
What’s that? A story? Ah God, sure I’ve so many. It’s rememberin them when ye get to my age that’s the problem. Oh, did she now? Well, your mammy might be tellin a few fibs.
Tea bags? Second cupboard on the right. Above the sink.
Where was I? Aye. I would have been about your ages. Ten. Maybe, twelve. Hard to believe I was young once, I know. I had four older brothers and two younger sisters. Long gone now. Would have been your great uncles and aunts.
What, dote? Oh, they moved to England and America before youse were born. Do I miss them? I do, surely.
Anyway, the place where we lived back when I was a boy was a wee cottage in Glencolmcille. It had a big forest behind it. Great for roamin in. Youse would have both loved it. We would spend hours and hours in the summer climbin trees, picking apart fallen logs to discover insects or try and set traps for wee animals.
One evenin, just before dinner, my ma was busy in the kitchen. She was mindin the neighbour’s sick baby as well as tryin to cook dinner. She sent me off to fetch the boys. Da’s late back from the moss so my brothers are on a long leash that evenin.
What’s that, honey? No, it’s an expression. It means they feel like they can do what they want without getting caught.
It was June. I remember ‘cos I was thinkin how unusual it was that it was gettin so dark for the summer and it only suppertime. The light was…different that day. My sisters were teasin me ‘cos they could see I was a bit nervous about goin off to the woods on my own. That made me even angrier, so I stormed off in a huff without lookin back.
I knew all the trails and checked the places where they should have been. The treehouse. The creek where we’d launch paper boats. A hill with a great big stone slab. Sometimes we pretended it was Excalibur and took turns tryin to move it.
What? Oh, like the sword, honey. Did you learn about King Arthur yet? You will.
After twenty minutes or so of searchin, it gets dark all of a sudden. The trees and their big nobbly branches reach out to trip me up. I remember lookin up, seeing patches of sky above through the roof of trees, already black with the first stars appearin. My own shadow is as long as what I can see in front of me. I start gettin even more nervous now. My feet keep goin, eyes keep searchin, desperate for where they could be. Before I realise it, I’m lost!
That’s when I hear voices. But not those of my brothers. I sneak up to a big tree, and peek around the trunk. Ahead of me, there’s two small men, arguin with one another. They’re dressed funny, wearing greens and browns with trousers tucked into boots. One of them has a short coat on, while the other is wearing a wee sleeveless shirt. When I step back, a twig under my boot snaps. I look up and they’re starin right at me.
Keep ‘er lit. Another wee log on the fire there, Rory. Good man.
So, I’m small for my age. Smaller than youse would be. But even still, I’m bigger than the two men over yonder. I’m also lightnin fast. Was lightning fast, true enough, Mary!
Anyway, I know I can outrun them if needs be. But, for whatever reason, they just decide to ignore me. The skinny one with no sleeves takes up a pickaxe and strikes it into a flat rock sunk deep in the ground. The other looks around, nervous, checkin his pocketwatch.
So, I’m about to come back the way I came, before I pause to look around me. Nothin—and I mean nothin—looks familiar. S’like a different forest to the one I know. And, it’s gettin darker by the minute.
Well what would you do? Well aren’t you very brave, cos that’s what I did too.
‘Hello!’ I shout. ‘Do you know the way out?’
The skinny man drops his pickaxe and leans on it for support, lookin at the other man for guidance. Boss man shrugs his shoulders, which sets skinny off to stone cuttin again. This annoys me to no end. Do they not know there’s a child lost in the woods? I storm up to them, which, I suppose, takes them both by surprise.
‘You know it’s very rude not to help someone when they ask.’
‘You know,’ Boss man says, ‘it’s very rude to interrupt someone when they’re workin.’
‘You’re not workin.’ I say, noddin to the one with the pickaxe.
‘And you’re not lost’, replies himself.
He points to a small clearing in the trees and a curved trail I hadn’t noticed. I walk toward it but stop and turn to the men again.
‘What are youse doing, anyway?’
‘Need to clear these rocks for her Majesty.’
I know, honey. That is weird. Maybe they were crazy.
I leave them be, thinkin I have bigger problems. Worryin that I’ll miss supper and be on the end of the wooden spoon.
Haha, you know about the wooden spoon, too?
I start runnin down this trail and the strangest thing happens. The trees on either side all start packing tighter together and the path gets more narrow until, eventually, I’m closed in by two walls. It’s completely dark and I can barely see in front of me. The tree branches have linked arms and made a ceiling above my head. I push forward and notice a big solid oak green door at the end of the trail.
Yes, like a real door. In the forest.
I open it and enter. I’m in a big banquet hall. There are all sorts of food on display. My stomach rumbles as I walk past the long row of tables. Trays of turkey, beef and all kinds of glazed meat. Bowls of brightly coloured fruit. Plates stacked high with desserts. And the smell…
Better than your mammy’s cookin, honey!
My feet keep moving. Before I know it, I’ve left the room, walkin along a long, royal red carpet. The walls are decorated with bright murals with strange characters. Long, ruby coloured drapes frame beautiful paintings. Sparkling diamond chandeliers hang above my head. The place is a palace.
I keep er lit, glancin either side before passin through an open doorway. There’s soft music playin. From where, I have no idea. And then, directly ahead, raised off the ground and on a tall golden throne sits the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to…intrude,’ says I.
It means enter without permission, honey. Yes, that is a big word!
‘You’re not intruding if you’re already home,’ the woman says, dressed in a long blue shimmery dress. ‘All this could be yours, if you wish.’
‘Why me?’
‘You are courageous. You fear not and want not. Yours is a temperament that can be moulded to sire a Prince.’
‘I…just want to get my brothers and go home.’
Her cold blue eyes study me from head to toe before finally she says, ‘You have only glimpsed this world. There are worlds beyond yours. Should your heart desire, return here at the same time in seven days.’
‘And if I choose not to?’
‘Then you must never speak of what you saw here today.’
I do a wee curtsy and smile. As I turn to go, a cold hand grabs ‘round my wrist. The Queen stands directly in front of me.
‘OK,’ I say, closin my eyes cos the pain is brutal. ‘I get it!”
Her tight grip falls away and when I open my eyes, she’s gone. The throne is gone. The music. All gone. The sounds of the forest come flushin back and I’m surrounded again by the tall dark trees. In the distance, I hear voices call my name. My brothers and my Da.
Did I return? What do you think, Rory?
Nor did I tell anyone. Well, that’s a fib. About ten years later, I did. But we had moved from that cottage into town by then.
What’s that honey? Did she punish me?
Look. See those marks around my wrist? Look like a tanline? Can you count them? One, two, three, four and a fifth, for the thumb. The Fairy Queen left her mark in more ways than one.
This story was written for the ambitious creative project, ‘The Weekly Kook’, where I release a brand new short story every week for a year, totalling…yep, you guessed it – 52 stories.
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